


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [48]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, No Real Death, Past Child Abuse, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, major character death in an altered state of consciousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#a-dictionary-of-the-english-languageThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Series: Domino 🁡 [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Dictionary of the English Language](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685417) by Samuel Johnson. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[A Dictionary of the English Language](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Dictionary_of_the_English_Language) \- Samuel Johnson  
>  **— Cover Song:**[Way Down We Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8) \- Kaleo  
>  **—** Created using 31 words collected from every Prodigal Son Big Bang team’s summaries: exclusive, gruesome, evolutionary, college, embarrassing, unparalleled, permanent, skeletons, scrambles, heartless, abusive, pineapples, vampire, showman, missing, monster, violent, murder, red, anticipate, disappears, target, reeling, game, visions, friends, distraction, trust, camping, ruthless, troubled

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/a-dictionary-of-the-english-language.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
Malcolm disappears down the dark hallway, anticipating violence at any step. Visions ruthless, they taunt him, whispering in his ear that they know where all the skeletons are buried, where all the monsters lie. He’s trapped in a permanent hell, scrambling into every doorway for cover, yet unable to escape inside — those rooms as exclusive as entrance to his Ivy League college. With an embarrassing yelp, he braves wading through the gruesome pool of red at the juncture of hallways and embraces the evolutionary urge to flee. Trusting no one, he peels in the direction he last saw his friends, hoping making himself a moving target is enough to emerge unscathed.

His fear is unparalleled — he doesn’t even remember shaking this much when camping. Poking his fingernails into his palms in a makeshift distraction, he attempts to keep his bowels intact, even though his body urges to evacuate everything. How long has he been missing? One, two hours? Surely someone’s looking for him by now. The team wouldn’t leave him reeling in this troubled game by himself. The showman’s heartless, not them.

After all the abusive run-ins he’s suffered at the hands of his father, at the hands of all the assailants who have tried to do him in over the years, somehow this is all worse. The endless hallways appear as if vampires and mosquitos have conspired to drain all the blood from the world, yet have tired of the taste and let it spill. Showman nowhere to be found, Malcolm’s grateful — perhaps he can escape unseen.

The few pieces of pineapple he had for breakfast turn in his stomach. His gut growls with a threat that everything will get spilled out. By some miracle, he hasn’t pissed himself. Legs hurtling him forward, he seeks a way out.

He runs smack into the exit, its knob equally jammed. The inscription on the door stares back at him. /ˈmərdər/: (a) the unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another, (b) something very difficult or dangerous, (c) a flock of crows. Scanning the space for any winged creatures, Malcolm decides — perhaps not the crows.

Putting an end to him, slaughtering him wantonly? Seems to be what the showman has in mind. For what purpose? To achieve what goal? He has no idea. Not that any of his abusers had ever really told him. Always somehow inferior, less than normal, the castaway left to rediscover some semblance of himself.

He looks at the door again, winds up, and gives it a hearty kick with his heel, but it doesn’t budge — he’s stuck. Rereading the words, another definition appears: (d) Malcolm Bright.

A knife clatters onto the linoleum floor. It’s big enough to see it’s a chef’s knife, its long blade shining in the spotlight from who knows where. The implication is clear, made crystal by the voice that booms overhead — “See yourself out, Malcolm.”

It sounds oddly like Dr. Whitly. The red tide on the floor rises higher, taking in his ankles.

“The knife, boy,” the voice urges.

It appears in Malcolm’s fingers, the viscous fluid rising above his knees. What does the showman expect him to do? It’s not murder if he uses it on himself.

“The unlawful premeditated killing of one human being by another,” the voice reads and pauses.

Malcolm’s one human. If he’s coerced, is that another? By proxy? He can’t be a third party and himself.

“Something very difficult or dangerous, you idiot,” the voice barks, losing patience with him.

Oh. Why didn’t the showman just say so?

“Don’t you want to survive? Get out!” the voice yells.

Malcolm plunges the knife near the doorknob, hoping to rattle the lock against the plate. As much as he jiggles the blade, the door doesn’t shift at all. There’s only a faint ting of metal on metal and the occasional scrape of paint. There might as well have been a deadbolt for all the good fiddling with the lock is doing.

“Malcolm Bright,” the voice taunts.

Malcolm looks up, the blade covered in blood. Who’s injured? His pants are soaked — did he lose the battle with keeping himself together? Checking, he sees blood sloshing around his waist, threatening to float him away. The smell is gag-inducing, but his body doesn’t betray him.

“Might want to find your wits,” the voice says. “ _Come on_ , boy — you’re a Whitly! Get yourself out of here!”

“Dad?” Malcolm asks. His eyes burn with a bright blue fire, lighting his escape.

“This is your father,” the voice mocks.

The door changes, revealing /ˈfäT͟Hər/: (a) a man in relation to his child or children, (b) a man who gives care and protection to someone or something, (c) used in proper names, especially when personifying time or a river, to suggest an old and venerable character.

The damn river of blood is practically up to his pecs. Dr. Whitly fits the other definitions by technicality only.

 _Swish_ , he slices at the fluid. _Plunge_ , he thrusts as deep as the knife will travel. Swing after swing he clips the vital fluid and sprays it across everything, murdering the brutal beast, the showman.

The door opens.

There aren’t any blood remains on his fingers, no stains on his clothes. Even the knife is nowhere to be seen, not even embedded in the floor near his toes.

Malcolm takes a tentative step out as if any vibration from his presence will bring danger upon him. When the first lands safely, he follows it up with a few more, remembering his urgency again.

He needs to find his friends. He needs to tell them he killed The Surgeon. Dr. Whitly. Martin. His father. Dad.

Crows loom in the trees, cackling over his existence. “Not a threat. Not a threat,” different birds say. “Watch out for Whitly.”

Smarter than him, they’ve got their whole defense figured out. He doesn’t even know where he’s going. At least they recognize him as Bright.

“Find Gil,” the birds remind him.

Limbs no longer shaking, yet body sweaty with exertion, he takes several breaths to steady himself. Somewhat more composed, he listens, heading off in the direction he thinks he might find his friends.

— ◌◯◌ —

“What is this woman, eighty?” JT comments, paging through A. S. Harper’s bibliography of over one-hundred books. He’s never read any of the titles, but apparently others have — millions of copies worth.

“Seventy-six,” Dani returns.

“Not every day we bring someone her age in for questioning.” The last time had been Watkins’ grandmother, and that had gone splendidly.

“If we can reach her.”

“Huh?”

“One number’s disconnected, the other just rings and rings. Pulling last known address to go pay a visit.”

“A. S. Harper as mysterious as her books?” Veronica lived in a gated community, where did A. S. Harper live, a private island?

“How deep into that background check did you get?” Dani teases with a raised eyebrow.

“Enough to know her books are not for me.” Getting enough crime at work, he doesn’t need to bring it home with him in his reading materials.

“Apparently Gil ‘loves her serial mysteries.’” She air quotes. “Who knew?”

“Author did a bit too much research and brought the poison to life?” JT posits.

“She fits the demographic. Bit old, though. How many times has it been the murder weapon of choice in her books?”

“Twelve hits on the page,” JT comments, tapping his keys. “Maybe five, six books from descriptions alone. Who knows how many more if we actually went into the text. FBI would have an infinite caseload if they spent time on authors, though — serious civil rights violation, too.”

“Little different if your book was the last thing your editor was reading before dying in suspicious circumstances.”

“Maybe the writing was that bad.”

“Jokes now?”

“You have a better alternative?”

“I’ve got an address — let’s go,” Dani says, standing.

“One second — gotta grab more descriptions off the printer.” JT retrieves the papers and the two head for the parking garage.

“So I’m driving, huh?”

“Want to have an informed conversation. If she’s written that many books, I imagine she’s pretty sharp.”

“Persistence and meeting the right people.” Dani shrugs. “It is an accomplishment, though.”

JT gives her a look.

“The books, not the murder.”

“You’re in charge — I’ll follow your lead.”

“I’m pretty sure Gil left you in charge.”

“So I’m delegating you’re in charge for this conversation. You took the lead anyway. What, you don’t want it?” JT asks as they both get into the car.

Dani scrunches her nose. “Isn’t it weird being the boss?”

“I’m not the boss. You do realize ‘in charge’ is just in case the brass makes a stink? I’m just talking — trying to lighten things up a little.” It’s not so fun being perceived as a level above his friend. He wants to have the same old jabs with each other.

Dani pulls out onto the street. “Talk to me, book expert — what are we walking into?” she teases.

“I still don’t understand how she’s a best-selling author.”

“Something for everyone, I guess.”

_“A Taste of Sunlight?”_ he reads off one of the titles. “ _Murder Rave_?”

“Maybe she’s a spry seventy-six.”

“She’s something.”

JT keeps reading off snippets from the books and the two of them continue to trade light banter as they travel to their destination.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
